“Joy and those women...they were so happy.”
Oh God, I’m already crying.
And the more I think about Joy and all those other women, that’s when it becomes clear—
What’s making me cry these stupid tears is seeing all of them, knowing that they’re all mothers, and that they’regood.
That there are good mothers in this world still, but mine isn’t one of them, and I hate how that’s making me want to cry and rage because it feels so, so unfair.
I turn to Icelle, and her face...makes me laugh. It’s still that kind of face. Beautiful, blank, and bitchy with a capital B. But those blue eyes of hers, I see what Icelle wants to say—
It’s okay to hope.
It’s okay to believe there are good people, too.
It’s okay even if it means sometimes, we get it wrong, and sometimes that means getting hurt all over again.
Icelle slowly nods.
It’s okay,her eyes say.
My mom sucks, too.
Well, okay, I made that one up.
What her eyes are saying is much nicer (it goes along the lines of ‘my mom isn’t good either, and it’s fine) because she’s much nicer than me, and because itisIcelle telling me all these things, and I know what she’s has to overcome—
It has 99% of my heart ready to make that leap of faith.
99%.
Because 1% part of me is still scared, and it just wants to stay in the dark and turn away from the light. Because darkness at least is safe and familiar. It doesn’t hurt when it’s the only thing you’ve known your entire life.
And that 1%?
It’s what makes me squeeze my eyes shut later that night when I hear someone knock on my door.
Once. Twice. A third time.
I don’t let myself think who that someone is, not even when my tears start to fall as I hear that person’s footsteps fade as they walk away.
It’s okay,I tell myself.
It’s okay.
It’s okay.